We are certainly in Lent now. Ash Wednesday and the Great Litany are always good clues. So, in good Lenten style, I’m going to make my confession. Well, part of it, anyway.

I confess that many times in my life, I have tried to win people’s approval, or even love, by trying to be valuable to them or to give them something of value, so they’ll like me, maybe owe me. I’ve cultivated useful relationships, providing something so that I can get something.

Does that sound familiar? Do you ever have times when you try to be valuable or helpful, or give something of value (maybe a present, or card, or compliment) to make someone like you, or because they can help you, or so that they’ll owe you?

And I confess that there have been times when I have exercised raw power over others. The power, or example, to make a cutting remark, or to win an argument because winning is more important than being in relationship. It’s all about being in control.

Have you ever tried to control, rather than love, somebody because it was the quick, easy way out of a problem?

And I confess that I have tried to win people’s approval or respect by showing off. This ranges from me trotting out my credentials to me trumping someone’s story about their knee surgery by pointing out how drastic my knee surgery was. I find myself occasionally interjecting comments into conversations just to let the hearer know how much I know. Showing off.

Do you ever try to shore up your insecurities by showing off?

I don’t like admitting those things to myself, much less to you, but I do so for a reason. Each time I look back on something I did that I’m not proud of, I feel like I was not being authentic. I was acting out my "counterfeit self," not my "authentic self." Does that make sense? Do you ever feel that way?

A lot of people do, because I hear statements like that a lot. And it’s not surprising. The Bible affirms the truth that we human beings are created wondrous, in God’s image, children of God. That’s who we were created to be; that’s our authentic self. And, the Bible affirms the truth that there is a part of us, a counterfeit part, that rebels against God. We learn those profound truths in the first three chapters, and the next 1500 pages are about how God deals with these puzzling authentic, counterfeit creatures.

I think the fact that you’re here indicates that you want to be more authentic, and less counterfeit. And in that quest, we often grasp at quick, easy fixes. We want rules, clear rules, to tell us what to do in all circumstances. That doesn’t work. The Bible is not "God’s Instruction Book," no matter what you see on bumper stickers. The unavoidable fact is that we have to decide which of the many, often conflicting, rules in the Bible to apply. And we have to think. We have to decide how to, or whether to, apply old rules to new situations. The Bible does not give us easy rules to follow in all times and at all places. It gives us identity, and character, and purpose. It tells us who we are, and where we come from, and why we’re here.

And that is so important. We can’t make Christian ethical decisions in a vacuum. We must make them in the context of an intentionally formed life. It’s a difficult, sometimes messy enterprise, I admit. But it is vital, because the time will come when you have to say to yourself, "I have to do this because I know where I came from; I know who I am; I know my purpose, and I want to be an authentic child of God."

That time came for Jesus. He went from his baptism into the "wilderness," a frightening area between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea full of jagged rocks and huge cliffs. The soil is dry as talcum power; the place only gets six inches of rain a year. It is an image of hell.

And it is there that the devil offers Jesus, who is alone and hungry, a chance to make bread. How tempting that must have been as Jesus thought not only of his own growling stomach, but of all the hungry people in the world. "Here’s how you can bring them to you," the devil whispers, "feed them; make them owe you." I confess, I have tried to win people’s approval, or even love, by trying to be valuable to them or to give them something of value so they would owe me.

"Or," the devil says, "you can be the greatest political leader ever. Just worship me, and think of the good you can do." I confess that there have been times in my life when a part of me has exercised power over others with a remark, with an argument that put them in their place. I controlled them for my purposes, and I usually thought it was for a good cause.

"Or," the devil says, "throw yourself off the top of the Temple and let the angels catch you. Show them how spectacular and impressive you are. Who wouldn’t believe then?" I confess that I have tried to win people’s approval or respect by showing off.

Each of these temptations, presented in the wilderness of Israel and the wilderness of the soul (where all of our hardest temptations are presented), had to be genuinely appealing. Jesus must have wrestled not only with the devil, but also with himself.

I confess, I have failed those tests over and over. I have not been my authentic self. I have acted out of my counterfeit self. But Jesus did not fail. Why? Did he remember rules? Did he draw on, "God’s Instruction Book for Life?"

Don’t think so. I think he remembered where he came from, who he was, and what his purpose was. He did not "cherry pick" rules or face temptation in a moral vacuum. I imagine that as Jesus was sitting in the middle of this barren landscape, he remembered, for example, probably without even realizing it, the creed he had known since he could remember knowing anything. We heard it this morning. It is the oldest creed in the Bible; every Jewish kid knew it by heart. There’s not a single rule in it, but it is a poetic, powerful reminder of who we are. It begins, "A wandering Aramean was my ancestor." (By the way, the "Wandering Aramean" is Abraham.) Then it goes on to tell the story of slavery in Egypt, of deliverance by God’s might hand into the promised land of milk and honey, and of a life of gratitude to God.

This creed was not something Jesus memorized; it was in his bones. It placed him in history, in his people, and in his purpose. It was part of a formed life. And that formed life said to the devil, whom we usually recognize only in hindsight, "No!"

Don’t wait until you’re tempted — to cheat on your taxes, to do drugs, to love money, to worship the god of your belly, to cultivate useful friendships, to flatter in order to improve your position, to dominate, to show off, or to fail to do that which is required for you to be your authentic self. Don’t wait until then to remember where you came from, and who you are, and why you’re here. A Wandering Aramean is your ancestor, and Jesus Christ is your savior. Use a holy Lent to allow our rich tapestry of Word, and sacrament, and tradition, and reason, and discipline to form your life, so that when that formed life encounters the devil in the wilderness of your soul, you’ll recognize him — and know what to tell him.